My mind, on foundations of sand, no, Gelatine,
Shifting mood one moment to the next,
With every word, thought, feeling occurence,
A spark of depression and darkness, or of ecstasy and ecstatic glee.
No idea of what’s true, because of the shifting;
Of the mind,
Of memories or of even situation.
Your mind being your reality,
And also your enemy.
The memories it brings,
And how it brings them.
To the spotlight of attention,
To convert, improve or wreck you.
Not knowing reality from the manipulation of my own mind.
My broken mind.
No one understands or sees me,
Or what I see.
I don’t know what I see,
And after the fact, don’t know.
What was real.
That’s the problem having a mind built on foundations of sand.